Robert Stafford Hahn

Robert Stafford Hahn, father, grandfather, great grandfather, and friend lived to the age of 101. A couple of months shy of 102 he lived a life that was massive in scope and was defined more by its fullness than the longevity. We would like to share a bit of his life as remembered by those who loved him and were loved by him. Robert was born October 31, 1919, two and a half months after the end of WW1. As a child he saw confederate soldiers sit on porches, march in parades, and in their old age display the wounds of a war that seems as relatable now as the Revolutionary War. On the weekends his mother would host a woman who had been born a slave, was enslaved until her teens, and would talk sparingly about her time before freedom. The house his family lived in transitioned from gas outlets to electricity. One of the first, few houses with this new technology, the wires covered in silk were stapled to the walls and the ceiling. Medicine was Epsom salts castor oil and prayer. Bob was a sickly child, born premature. The man who would live to 101 endured various maladies that would bedevil him into adulthood. The treatment was often just getting better.Robin, as his younger sister Rozelle now age 97 would name him, grew up in Columbus, Mississippi. I would be remiss if I did not mention that Aunt Pode, Dr. Hahn, his sister, always likes to be known as Bob's much younger sister. According to Robin he was the ideal brother. Displaying incredible forbearance, understanding and wisdom he endured the torments of a younger sister. Being undersized he was often at a disadvantage. He was stoic in the face of a wild uncompromising bully. Dr. Hahn would disagree. One thing that is not in dispute is the love they shared for almost a century. Watching them sit and reminisce was as comfortable as a hug. Siblings do not always fit. These two were interlinked.They lived in a small city that was ideal in many ways and harsh in others. Doors were never locked. When telephones became more available the phone operators acted as sentinels for the city. Behind their switchboards they would connect you if possible, but if not they would likely know where everyone had gone, what they were doing. Quite possibly, they had an opinion to go with the information. The characters were numerous. Friends were plentiful. His best friend was the preacher's son, who fit the mold of a good-natured troublemaker. Sometimes trouble they caused while completing a task they had been assigned for punishment far exceeded the original infraction. There was a pet squirrel, a goat, critters of all sizes. The goat bit young Bob and was never seen again. One of the memories that he related to us many times involved one of the first automobiles in Columbus. His fathers. A Jewish man, married for the second time to a Methodist woman, he was tech freak. A voluble, gregarious grocery wholesaler who was always on the lookout for the latest device, the new machine. Today he would be camped out at the apple store waiting for the next iWhatever. It is possible that when they purchased their first car there were only a handful in the state of Mississippi. Father and son, and sometimes sister would motor along his sales route, going as far as Mobile, Alabama. This was in a car, in a world that was not ready for the concept. The infrastructure was non-existent. A car was as practical as a dragon. Many a farmer good naturedly pulled them from the mud, a gully, out of a field, or back onto a trail. You can imagine the farmer, patting his horse, chuckling at the man and his son and their impractical toy. Not everything was idyllic. His mother, 4'10" and as fierce as any person that has lived, was a significant force in his life. When a black man was being chased by a group of white men, she picked up a 2by4 and stopped them before a lynching occurred. The man had apparently stolen a loaf of bread. The KKK marched in the streets. When she was asked why the torch carrying men were hooded, she told brother and sister that the men were ashamed of themselves. Growing up during Prohibition the sheriff of Columbus, if he could be elected for a term or two, would be financially set for the rest of his life. His father lived a large life. He liked his cigars, rich food and probably imbibed from time to time. When Robert was in his early teens his father passed away. Not too long after his mother followed. Both dying from illnesses that today would be minor health concerns. During the middle of the depression, with a much younger sister, Robert S. Hahn finished high school, kept house, fed and clothed, comforted and survived. He was not without help. The community and family were a help. That Robert and Rozelle not only survived but thrived is beyond comprehension.Bob finished high school with distinction and began work immediately. He walked into TJ Moss for his first day and promptly lodged his foot in a trash can. This may be the earliest occurrence of this cliché. TJ Moss would later be purchased by Kerr-McGee, and he would go on to work for this company for 47 years. There would only one significant period of absence: World War 2.He described the attack on Pearl Harbor, announced on the radio as an absurd, incomprehensible event. It did not make sense. Shocking in the truest sense of the word. Like many of his generation he immediately went down to the recruitment office to enlist. Unlike many, he weighed about 100 lbs. The recruitment officer told him to go eat as much as he could and return the next day. Deciding that bananas would do the trick he proceeded to eat beyond sickness and hopefully marched in the next day. He had lost weight. Because Columbus was a small town, and Bobby knew everyone, the head of the office told them to weigh him one more time…and put a foot on the scale.For anyone that has watched the recent Captain America films, picture the hero as he is portrayed before the magical serum is used. When we watched those films together Dad always smiled. If you have seen pictures of him during the WW2 years you would see a similar rail thin man. In nearly 5 years of service, he may be the only soldier, on either side, that gained weight. In basic training they gave him a Thompson machine gun. He barely hit the sky. He described it like wrestling an alligator that fired bullets. Robert could type, and that was as proved to be as valuable as any skill a soldier possessed. After many trains, basic training, and assignment to the 415th Night Fighter Squadron he got on a boat headed for North Africa. As tense as the crossing proved to be his transport landed at their destination. The ship that was carrying their equipment was not as lucky. The major that Bob was assigned to promptly declared that no decent soldier ever lost his gear. That was interpreted, correctly, as a call to arms, and the unit proceeded to grab whatever they needed, wherever they could find it. Fully stocked they left the yard well provisioned. When leaving through the gate the poor soldier assigned to the check point looked at the gear with all the different unit numbers, dropped open his mouth, shook his head and waved them through. Dad reckoned they had at least one piece of gear for every unit that was mustering at that location.Any soldier that served in WW2, no matter what position they held or where they served, has a novel's worth of experiences. Being on the administrative side of combat still involved being in combat. He had stories he told, stories that he told rarely, and many that he did not share with family. From North Africa through Sicily then the entire boot of Italy they followed the war. He had tinnitus from the constant bombing, Ally and Axis alike. He spent time recuperating in Cyprus. The unit supported many operations until the end of the European conflict. Ending up in Germany they had a long tense wait to see if they would be deployed to the Pacific theater. The information on the 415th is plentiful and I encourage anyone to look for the details. Robert served for the entirety of the war and was elevated to Staff Sergeant. He received the Bronze Star among other citations, and when asked about the medal said "I was a good boy." Please feel free to ask family or friends about any of the stories he shared over the years. At least once a year he would share some of his typed stories with the NW Lion's Club. He had stories our family never complained about hearing again and again.A small selection abbreviated heavily — Stealing Eisenhower's steaks around Thanksgiving (He was mildly irritated when this was brought up). Drinking brandy with the monks who manufactured it. He saw cars in Italy that had been converted to wood burning steam engines. The destruction they went through was total. He loved travel shows, and while watching Rick Steves, Anthony Bourdain or Samantha Brown he never failed to mention how different it was during his travel package.Though he highlighted the amusing or the less terrifying aspects of his service there were a cost for him as well. He saw the concentration camps. Early on his squad mates would ask him what he would do if captured. Hahn being a Jewish name, he replied that he would blame it on the inefficiency of the American army and tell the Germans his name was Robert O'Hahn. Fox hole humor may have helped, but by the end of the war he was exhausted in all the ways a human can be tired. Even at 101 his memory was astounding. He had no memory of the last month and a half of his service. No memory of his trip home. He did his duty, and then checked out. Arriving home in Columbus, MS he took all of 12 hours off and then went back to work. He helped his sister through college, and then she put herself through medical school. Dr. Hahn was one of seven women in her program, an exceptionally large female student population at the time. Together they were always in a bond that defied distance. In 47 years, he started with a foot in a trash can and ended up Vice President of Forestry at Kerr-Mcgee. For the job he travelled to nearly all the contiguous states. Living first in Mississippi he moved to Shreveport, Louisiana then onward to St. Louis, Missouri. He ended up in Oklahoma City. When he arrived, Edmond was six cows. May avenue was three or four miles of developed land and all businesses closed at 7:30. As a man who did not drink the liquor laws were acceptable.As he achieved success in business, his family began to grow. He met and married the love of his life, Eva McDowell. Their first child Elizabeth was followed by his namesake Robert Jr. and their life was steady, busy and full. Unfortunately, Eva suffered a long, protracted illness, and passed away much too early. As a single father, on the road, moving from city to city the family was kept together by sheer force of will. None of it was easy, for the children or for him, but they persevered. He eventually remarried, to Jacqueline McIntyre, and had one more child Andrew Matthew (the person ineffectually pecking away at this obituary). In the broadest of strokes this was Robert Stafford Hahn's life. I cannot stop without giving a sense of what he meant to those he lived with, loved and affected. And most importantly the true loves of his life; grandchildren and great-grandchildren.In Remembrance—One thing to remember as all these stories and anecdotes are related; Dad lived to 101 by almost exclusively subsisting on fried chicken, Cheez-its and one Pepsi a day. He would substitute some different fried foods from time to time. Never drinking alcohol or smoking probably helped, but I lived with him for the last 15 years of his life, and only remember him eating 9 vegetables that were not on top of a hamburger. On with the stories. Elizabeth Hahn, his first born, is an accomplished artist. As unlikely as it is she began her career in Oklahoma City and struggled early on to gain traction in a field that has no road map. Like any aspiring artist in this region, she regularly participated in the annual arts festival. The festival was in downtown OKC and was visible from Dad's office. Occupying one of the top floors of the Kerr-McGee building he could go about his day, and still check on the bustle in the tents down below. One year he as he looked at the tents and the food trucks he saw a gathering storm on the horizon. From his position he continually watched the clouds darken, thicken and continue towards the festival. When he could not stand it any longer, he grabbed his coat, jumped in the car and raced to Elizabeth's stall. Just as they finished loading her canvases, the winds and the rain started to pound into the rest of the tents. As we say, Oklahoma happened. I recently had a conversation with Roland Hill who is also from Columbus MS, and had known Dad since the 1950's. He talked about one of their colleagues, George Easton—Uncle George to Elizabeth and Rob. During a conversation George said, "Bob sees a bit farther than the rest of us." The context was work, but it applied to every aspect of his life. And he used his vision to look out for others. I cannot think of any story that distills his life into a moment better than this one. To the best of his ability, he wanted to keep others out of the storm. He was astounded by his daughter Elizabeth. There may be some who are as proud of their children, but no one was prouder. Initially baffled by her chosen profession he would not stop telling others about what she was working on, and what she had built.  Robert Stafford Hahn Jr., born just a few years after Elizabeth. Everything above also applies to him. His abilities with engines, anything of a mechanical nature was a source of wonder for Dad. Rob is also a modern-day picker, trading items on the internet and at swap meets here and around the country. Dad would relate Rob's latest adventures two or three times before he heard about the next one.  Andrew Matthew Hahn. I was named Andrew, called Matt, and when I was in trouble, frequently and innumerably, I was Matthew. I know I was constantly on his mind. When his grandchildren, Aaron and Eva were growing up, they were Aaron and Eva until they misbehaved. Then, of course, they were "Matthew!". I was lucky enough to stay with him as he reached 100, and then 101. Given his upbringing, the responsibilities he had early on, I am not sure he had a traditional childhood. From the age of 90 onward he got that childhood. I was his partner with the models, the trains, and then the Legos. Watching him listen to an opera with glue covered pants I witnessed a man find joy in the small things he loved. I could ask for no more. Aaron Ross. The first grandchild, and the source of as many smiles for Granpa as he may have had up to that point. At the age of 80 he built a treehouse for Aaron and Eva. At the age of 80 he fell out of the partially built treehouse. He swore Aaron to silence. And then completed the treehouse. When Aaron told everyone, as soon as there was anyone to tell, Granpa was irritated that we would be concerned. Aaron has carved his own path. Settling in Northern California he is an artist and inventor. He has created a hydrogen car, recently made a boat for his children, and was a constantly on Granpa's mind. About two years ago while we were in the car Dad, randomly and without any conversation leading up to it, asked me if Aaron was a hippie. I laughed, then said yes that was probably was an accurate description. He beamed. "My grandson is a hippie." While he was probably not too enthusiastic about Aaron's mother being in that category many years before, his grandson was a glorious hippie. He beamed. Eva Ross. Granpa did not have favorites. I feel I need to say that even if… Eva was able to come to the hospital when it was apparent that he was not doing well, and time was limited. She arrived when he was still in the ICU and came in when he was in and out of consciousness. I whispered to him that Eva had come, and the look on his face… I imagine it was akin to the expression of the first person to witness a light bulb. Eva Joy is aptly named as far as he was concerned. She would travel and he would be along for the ride. Her accomplishments in her profession, though a different field, closely mirrored his own so many years ago. The way she views the world, the compassion she treats the people in it, and the consideration she has regardless of the task, could not be closer to how Granpa navigated his life. The rest of us he loved as much. Eva, I believe he understood. She has recently taken up Legos. Rozelle the second and Epic. Aaron and Pataska have increased the family in recent years, and Great Granpa could not believe the happiness it provided. He had trouble using a cell phone. Poor eyesight and shaky hands make the modern world difficult. With a picture of Epic and Rozelle as the lock screen, and the home screen, he never handled it more. The pictures, the video chats, and the short time he was able to see them in person provided a constant boon. He never said the name Epic without a smile on his face. Rozelle, named for his much younger sister, he found to be so adorable as to be unreal. We are all sorry that they will not have more time with him, but they affected him immeasurably.An expression I have never cared for is, "They do not make them like that anymore." I still don't. For Robert Stafford Hahn I would amend it to, "They do not make them like that." He lived a long life, a large life and in many ways a hard life. Widowed twice, orphaned early, a decorated soldier in a war that was horrible, no matter how noble. His formative years were during the Great Depression. The stories are endless. He watched the Arch in St. Louis being constructed from his office window. He lived through the terms of 19 presidents. From electricity as a luxury to cell phones and satellites. He watched the advent of airplanes, from just after the Wright Brothers to breaking the sound barrier and seeing a trip to the moon. And on and on.Through it all he loved. His family, friends, his place wherever that may be, and the people that surrounded him. A devout Christian, a Methodist due to the guidance of his mother, he loved and did not judge. He was saddened for people, not saddened by them. We will be a little less without him, but so much more for having known him.